


Marathon

by betawho



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betawho/pseuds/betawho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor convinces River to run in a marathon with him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marathon

River blew out her breath and plopped down on her bum, she pulled off her boots and started massaging her feet. “Ungh! I am never entering a marathon with you again,” she said.

The Doctor ran in place, bouncing lightly, cooling down. Breaths puffing evenly, bowtie still tied. “It wasn’t that bad.”

She glared up at him. “Sweetie, I will do a lot to see you in shorts.” She glared down at his trousers. “But running 10 kilometers among a group of aliens who consider _surviving_ the race to be an accomplishment, that’s a bit much.”

He grinned at her. “They are a bit cutthroat. You held your own, though.” He beamed down at her with pride.

“It’s not the _knives_ that bothered me, it was the bombs, and pit traps, and _tacks_!” She glared down at the sole of her foot and rubbed at the red spot there.

He grinned down at his exhausted wife. She looked like an adorable and rather aggressive kitty. He grinned wider. River hadn’t so much run the race as _fought_ it.

That Cheetah man was probably still stuck down his own pit trap. Those Quillerts would be days picking out their own quills, and he’d never seen anyone dismantle a Raston Warrior Robot that way.

Still, she’d come in 32nd in an Intergalactic competition, that was no mean feat.

Even if it was mean to the feet.

He plopped down beside her, tugged his bowtie loose and pulled her feet into his lap. He started massaging her instep, she leaned back on her elbows with a moan, her head tipped backward. He rubbed her feet in his large hands, enjoying her soft skin, and strong bones, and pretty little toes.

She scooted down to lay flat, eyes closed. She groaned. “I _may_ forgive you.”

Surreptitiously, he lifted one hand and slipped his First Place medal out from under his collar. He slipped it into his pocket and went back to massaging her toes.

Like Atalanta, if he was ever going to win a race against River, he needed a few distractions.

She slitted her eyes open lazily and looked down at him as he dug his thumbs into her arches. She groaned again, a perfectly hedonistic sound.

It went straight to his stomach. Her eyes glittered.

Some things were worth more than medals.

—

* * *

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